They Aren't You
by heavy.sighs.and.sad.goodbyes
Summary: They were the girls with the bodies he craved. She never knew that she was one of those girls.


_**They Aren't You**_

She stared at him on the cover of that stupid magazine with those stupid girls. He sat on an olive-green couch. One lay carelessly across his lap and his hand rested on her hip (shaped like an hourglass). Another girl was standing behind him, her arms (tanned to perfection) were wrapped around his neck from the back. Her lips (plump and full) were right next to his ear (what was she saying to him?). He looked sullenly into the camera, his eyes deep and emotionless, like he was trying to fight the urge to do both of them right there on the set.

She bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears. They were friends; that was it. Why she loved him…she didn't know. Probably because of his voice. Maybe it was his eyes. No, it wasn't just parts of him. It was him as a whole. All of him. That's what she wanted. She would give the whole world and more just to have him to herself. Even for just one night. Just to have him touch her like that. Maybe then she'd feel beautiful (ugly duckling). But then again, it's not like she could move in any special way. She couldn't impress him. She had nothing.

What else was new? She never had.

She had started to give up hope. Why wouldn't she? Look at him. He had it all. He had every single girl in the world wrapped around his finger. Why would he want her?

Tears fell onto the magazine cover. She stared at it through foggy eyes. It was as if he was looking right at her. She could read his expression. _Yup. Keep looking at me. This is as intimate as we're ever gonna get. I could never like you that way. You're lucky I'm even _friends_ with you. Don't go wanting more from me. That's as good as you're gonna get._

The tears fell faster as he kept talking to her. The words he spoke were the truth. She was lucky now; she could be so lucky as to have him want her the way she wanted him.

She whimpered and her shoulders shook. She gasped for air as she sobbed loudly. She let out a scream. A few customers in the store looked down her aisle and she let out another groan. She wasn't holding back now. She was letting it out. She let out a distressed sound and a low grumble. She was really sick of him. But she couldn't hate him. Never hate him.

She whimpered loudly before throwing the magazine to the floor, the pages fluttered and the subscription cards flying across the aisle. She stomped on the book repeatedly, hoping this would make her feel better. It wasn't.

She let out strangled cries, not sure what else to do. Finally, she just fell on her knees in front of the magazine. It was torn to shreds, but his eyes were still the same as they had been before she started her tirade; boring into her with such an intensity that it hurt.

"Um, miss?" a male voice asked. She let out another cry but didn't look up.

"I know, I know. I have to buy it now. Ugh, god. Why me? What did I ever do to him? What did I ever do to deserve this? Why don't I deserve him? Why, why, why?" Her voice strained and she continued her crying. Footsteps walked over to her hesitantly. Then she felt a hand patting her back.

"Um, I don't know, but I'm sure that you do deserve him," the poor clerk answered. She was surprised that he was being so nice.

"Gah, you don't even know me. Why are you being so nice? I've never done anything for you before. And I'm sorry for that." Without looking up, she launched herself into his lap. He grunted slightly in surprise, but he stroked her hair and held her.

She heard someone pick up the magazine, but it couldn't have been the clerk. His arms were still around her.

"Don't worry. I'll pay for it. And I'm sorry for any other damage I might've caused," she told him, burying her face into his neck and crying some more.

"Geez, what, you don't like Shane Gray much, do you?" The clerk chuckled. She cried harder. She screamed into his neck and shook violently. He held her tighter. "Oh, I'm sorry. You just…do you like him?"

"Yes! Okay? Yes. Are you happy? I've finally fucking admitted it. Ugh, I hate him for making me love him. I hope he goes to hell for this. And those stupid sluts on the cover too." With this, she continued crying. He sighed and rocked her gently back and forth.

"Yea. I guess," he said. "He's a lucky jackass, isn't he?"

She looked up at him with certain distaste. She growled at him before letting her head drop back into his neck. "Lucky?! Yea. He is. He doesn't have to look at my face everyday. Instead he can look at…them." She choked out the last word with clear displeasure.

"No, no, no. He's very _un_lucky if you're looking at it that way," he reassured her. She glanced up at him.

"Why are you saying all this? You don't even know me."

He chuckled. "No, I don't. But my sister is having the same Shane Gray problem right now. Absolutely bonkers for the guy. You'd swear he was a Roman god or something. Did you know that they offer Shane Gray rehab now?"

She looked at him. From the stupid smirk on his face, she could tell he was kidding. She laughed lightly before letting her head fall back into his neck. She sighed shakily.

"You probably need to get back to work. Sorry for being such a waste of time. But then again, I waste everyone's time. I should just go crawl under a rock and die. It's not like anyone would notice. Especially not…him." She sniffed and unraveled herself from his arms and tumbled out of his lap.

"Oh, please, Mitch. I would know if you died. I'd be the one to plan your funeral I'd miss you so much."

Mitchie gasped, feeling out of breath as she heard him speak. _His_ voice. That voice she dreamed about nightly. The one in the dreams that turned into nightmares.

She spun around to see if it was true or if she were just hearing his voice. Hallucinating. What else was new?

But there he was, leaning against the shelf holding jarred peanuts and bagged chocolate. His arms were folded across his chest in such a way that made his biceps bulge under the sleeves of the plain black T-shirt he wore. in one hand was the magazine she had ruined. One foot was crossed over the other and he flipped his hair out of his eyes. Mitchie's heart fluttered in her chest at that action. She loved it when he did that.

"Drives you crazy, doesn't it?" he asked her as he walked over to her. Out of her peripheral vision she saw the clerk walk down the aisle and into the next. She averted her eyes back to Shane.

"What?" she asked, licking her lips. Her mouth was so dry. It was whenever he was this close. He smirked as he stood in front of her. She looked at her feet, knowing that meeting his gaze would ruin the wall she was trying to build. The wall to block out anything Shane related. It just kept getting knocked down. One call, one picture, one rumor, one time anyone said his name (even if they weren't talking about him (they usually were)); it tumbled, crushing her underneath.

"When I flick my hair out of my eyes like that." Shane leaned down. "Does it drive you crazy?"

Mitchie gasped as his hands gripped the backs of her thighs. She felt warm. She felt _pretty_. With just one touch. She nodded quickly, making sure not to look up. Shane chuckled deeply, his lips falling lower to ear level.

"Good," he said, his hot breath hitting her ear. She gulped, desperate for saliva. She wished she could just grab one of the water bottles in the racks a few aisles over, but she didn't dare move. For once, her nightmare was turning into a dream instead of the other way around. "I've got you right where I want you. It's not like you biting your lip is any easier for me."

"Huh?" Mitchie asked, looking up at him, but quickly looking back down again as soon as she realized the high possibility of catching his eye.

"The way you bite your lip," Shane mumbled, his lips floating to her neck, brushing up against her skin and leaving a trail of fire on her ice cold skin. One hand snuck underneath her shirt to rest on the small of her back, starting an inferno there as well and his other hand snaking itself into the back pocket of her jeans. "You do that whenever you're writing a song, whenever you're nervous, whenever you're looking at me from across the room…"

Mitchie blushed. "Don't think I don't see you. I do. All the time. You're all I see, all the time," he told her skin, his breath making her skin smolder from the heat. She whimpered. It was like she was walking through a fire. But walking through flames had never felt so _fucking_ good.

"Wha…What do you mean? What are you talking about?" she whispered, in fear of her voice cracking. Shane's lips floated across her jaw line. She gulped once more and groaned. Finally his lips floated in front of hers. She darted her head the other way. The hand under her shirt darted out and grabbed her chin, yanking it roughly so she was looking right at him.

And there were his eyes. They were as wild as a tigers'. He wore that expression when he wanted something (when he looked at the sluts, this would occasionally occur). Mitchie gasped softly in surprise. Why he looking at _her_ with that expression?

"Don't…even…play that game…with me, Mitchie," Shane told her breathlessly. She just looked into his eyes. She couldn't blink. Not when he was looking at her like this. Not when he was wearing that expression and it was aimed at _her_. It might not be the same expression when she opened her eyes again.

"What game?" she asked quizzically. She shuddered when Shane groaned, and it wasn't an exasperated one (it was the one he used when the sluts kissed his neck). His lips darted to her ear.

"The one you always play around me. The one where you think you're not good enough for me. The one where you act all innocent. The one where you grab my attention and then try to run from it. There's no escaping this time, Mitchie. This is it. You're _mine_."

All the words were a blur he spoke them so fast and so low. She wondered if he had said them. But he had. She knew he had. And also knowing this was only a dream, she went along with it.

"But I'm _not_ good enough for you," she insisted. She was surprised beyond belief when a long, low, deafening hiss extracted itself from Shane's throat. Both of his hands flew to the backs of her thighs and gripped them tighter than she thought possible. She gasped yet again.

"Yes, you are. Don't you _dare_ say you're not," he growled, low and dangerous. Like a tiger, he was about to attack. Mitchie felt the wind knocked from her lungs at the thought.

"Why not?" she asked wondrously, the words coming out breathlessly.

"Why do you ask so many questions? Why, why, why? That's all you ever ask. Why not? Because you _are_ worth it, Mitch, so don't you _dare_ say you're not," he whispered.

"But…"

Mitchie was cut off by Shane's lips pressed roughly against hers. She let out a squeak of surprise (and pleasure). He chuckled deeply; villainously. He backed her against the shelves and pulled their lips apart, panting breathlessly. Mitchie trembled, not knowing what happened. That felt too_ real_ to be a dream.

"No buts. Don't say anything. Just let me talk. I need to…I have something to tell you," he told her, trying to regain his breath. Mitchie nodded and bit her lip subconsciously. Shane, seeing this, chuckled darkly and shook his head. He flicked the hair out of his eyes (extracting a sigh from his prey), shook his head, and licked his lips (slowly, tantalizingly). He kissed her lips gently this time before pulling back and smiling at her again. He leaned against the shelves and sighed. Slowly, he sunk down to the floor, patting the spot next to him. Mitchie joined him and folded her legs while he left his outstretched (in the way of the grandmotherly lady that shot them a dirty look while passing through).

She waited for him to start, and when he did, she wasn't disappointed. "I don't know when it started, or how it happened, but I just stopped seeing you as the same little girl. The little innocent one that always hid herself. This one was still innocent but…older, perhaps. Sexier. In her own way, she was a vixen that had me slayed. She was just…so there. It's like I couldn't see the models anymore. I couldn't see their bodies. I couldn't see their attempts at seducing me. I was too busy thinking of you."

Without looking at Mitchie, he crawled over to the magazine rack and plucked an issue off the rack before scampering back to her. He kissed her cheek when he returned and showed her the cover. On it was the picture Mitchie had tried to destroy earlier. The same girls, the same bodies, the same lips, the same tanned skin; the same blank eyes.

Shane's hand rested on her thigh and she sighed as she continued to look at the picture. She looked away after a moment, not being able to face it; they were prettier than she was. It was easy to see.

Shane sighed and reached over to grab her jaw. He pointed at the cover. She looked at him and shook her head, not understanding what he was trying to say.

He leaned in to her ear and whispered, "You're better."

She understood those words, and shook her head furiously at the thought. "No."

Shane laughed, a carefree laugh this time. "Yes."

"No."

"Yes Mitchie, you are. I don't care what you say. I know the truth. You're better than they are. I can tell." Mitchie blushed as she realized Shane was talking about something else entirely towards the end (his eyes dragging themselves across her body). She no longer had the energy to disagree. She just smiled and nodded, running her hand across his cheek. Her heart tittered as he leaned into her touch.

"They're not like you. You're not like them. You're better," he stated as a fact. She blushed again before kissing him.

"They aren't you. They never could be. Ever." His voice was overpowered with honesty. Mitchie blushed.

He smiled and kissed her again. "I almost forgot."

"What?" she asked.

"I love you."


End file.
